Lean Your Ear This Way
by Sueg5123
Summary: It's Christmas 2010, MacKenzie's first year at ACN, and she needs a little Christmas. Right this very minute.


**Lean Your Ear This Way**

Martin had already left to join family, and Kendra had stayed at home with hers today, with a sick child.

So, the newsroom was already under-populated before the final show of the holiday week. Because Christmas Day fell on a Sunday this year, the decision had been made to continue the normal _News_ _Night_ schedule through Friday, December 23rd, after which the show would take a week's hiatus.

Fortunately, it had been a light news day, so the hour's telecast was short on topicality and long on animations of implausible flying reindeer.

By the time MacKenzie finally slid the headset around her neck, Control had evacuated. The studio was dark, as was Will's office, so she assumed he had departed quickly for a hot Friday night tryst with some buxom elf.

The bullpen seemed similarly deserted when she passed through, with only Jim still at his desk.

"Everyone else gone?"

Jim squinted up at her. "Yeah. They were pretty anxious. A lot of reservations with planes, trains, and automobiles, you know. My flight isn't until tomorrow morning, so I thought I'd finish up a few things." He dropped his pen and leaned back. "How about you, Mac? Going anywhere for the holidays?"

"There's a stack of books and a bottle of Cabernet waiting for me." She laughed at his expression. "It's my idea of fun."

"Yeah, I remember, but still. No family visit?"

"I was just there for my birthday, so it seemed a little too soon to skip across the ocean again."

"You know, if you need some place to spend Christmas, I think Maggie and Tess are planning—"

"I'm fine, Jim. And I do have some options—Kendra invited me for Christmas dinner, the Skinners asked me to their open house tomorrow—but I'm really all right on my own. No worries about me."

He waited a moment before finally smiling back. "Yeah. Okay, Mac, no worries. Whatever you wind up doing, I hope it's a merry one. And here—I got you a little something." He pushed a wrapped package at her. "Dark chocolates."

"Wonderful! Thank you, Jim. That will be my special treat on Christmas morning." She lightly touched his shoulder. "Have a safe trip and see you in a week."

Twenty minutes later, Mac snapped off her desk light and gathered her things. A quick glance into the empty bullpen indicated that Jim was gone now, too, and she heard the faint whine of a floor buffer as the janitorial staff took charge.

When the lift door slid open, Mac was surprised and amused to note the occupant.

"Father Christmas?"

Sure enough, the man in the elevator car had the general characteristics of the familiar cultural icon. Red velvet jacket and breeches, shiny black boots. Flushed cheeks that made his whiskers the whiter in contrast. A good-natured expression, with twinkling, friendly eyes. He also had the plump physique one expected of a Santa _doppelganger,_

The costumed man made a slight bow. "From the sound of your greeting, I'd guess you were from the old sod. A very good evening to you." He let his finger hover over the elevator controls. "Direction?"

"Down." But it seemed peculiar that he would ask, himself already having been heading one direction or another. "You?"

"Oh, as a professional matter, I almost always go down. Chimneys and all that, you know."

As the door closed, she laughed politely, struggling one arm into the sleeve of her coat and balancing her over-stuffed folio in the other.

"Here, allow me to help."

"Thanks." She tugged once more to right a coat sleeve, then gratefully took her folio back from the man. He must have been in the building for someone's Christmas party—perhaps some Lansing festivities in the executive dining room?

Feeling her steady stare, he smiled and asked, "And what can I bring you for Christmas?"

She laughed lightly. "I thought you didn't work until tomorrow night."

"Oh, I'm always working. That naughty and nice thing. Someone has to keep score, I'm afraid." With a knowing glance at the papers and folders she carried, he added, "Anyway, looks like you're working hard, too."

There was a bump and the elevator car stopped. They both looked at the LED display, now frozen on 17.

"Uh-oh. We seem to be stuck."

"I'm afraid this happens a lot more often than it should for a building of this age and design. Let me," she said, shifting her armload and reaching for the emergency phone. After an interminable series of rings, a voice on the other end finally assured her of someone's attention. "Twenty minutes or so," was what she was promised.

She forced a smile to Father Christmas, or whoever he really was.

"Afraid this is just going to take some time."

He shrugged and smiled benignly back. "As long as it's moving again by tomorrow night. I have commitments, you know."

"Of course," she said, playing along. "But ever since I was a little girl, I've wondered how you managed to visit every house on one night and know exactly what each little boy or girl wanted."

He leaned nearer, conspiratorially. "Tricks of the trade. I really can't reveal." Pause. "But we're back to that question of what you want, again. What would make—" he dipped his bearded chin, nudging her.

"MacKenzie. Or simply Mac."

"Well, then, what would MacKenzie be wanting this Christmas?"

"Forty-eight hours off work would be nice," she returned lightly. "A break from the incessant Euro-crisis and economics talk that I'll _never_ understand. A cooperative anchor."

"Anything else?"

"A surprise. A _happy_ surprise," she quickly amended, afraid to provoke bad luck by careless wishing.

He produced a small notebook and made a notation. "Surprise. _Happy_. Got it." Secreting the jotter back in an unseen pocket, he looked up, as if remembering something important. "And if you're offered champagne during a carriage ride this season, remember to always accept it."

The man's seeming _non sequitur_ amused more than concerned her. With a small giggle of delight at the holiday whimsey they were sharing, stuck in this elevator car, she finally asked, "Really now, what is your name? You seem so familiar."

"Why, I thought you knew. I'm Father Christmas. Or perhaps Santa Claus, since that is the pseudonym here."

"_Seriously_," she pressed.

"I am absolutely serious, I assure you," he laughed back.

She gave up. To pursue it any further would spoil the good humor between them, and she was so enjoying this conversation with the mock Christmas elf.

"In that case, since you _really are_ Father Christmas, I'm surprised you have the time to spend in a Manhattan high-rise on the eve of Christmas Eve."

"Well, we're pretty mechanized now—technology has made a big impact." He seemed quite serious and didn't react as she smothered another giggle. "Plus, I have a very dependable staff, and that makes it easy to delegate many of the routine functions."

Mac put her hand over her mouth to prevent another outburst. When she could choke back her laughter, she managed, "Still, it's a great deal to get done in a very short amount of time."

He nodded. "Not entirely unlike putting on a television news show, I should imagine. You learn to take everything in stride."

At that sly detail, she sobered and squinted at him again, trying to recognize the cherubic face. "_Do I know you_?"

"I don't think we've ever actually talked before, but I know you, m'dear. Little MacKenzie of—Hammersmith, wasn't it?"

Suddenly, this was uncomfortably familiar. Less amused now, but not quite alarmed, she grew quiet. A chance encounter with a stranger, isolated in a disabled elevator car. Should she fear for her personal safety?

The lights flickered and the car shuddered. Mac and the other man exchanged a glance, then looked in unison at the LED floor counter. It changed from 17 to 16.

Relief flooded through her. Conversation with the costumed man had become worrying.

For the remaining thirty seconds of the ride, they both stared at the floor indicator display and watched it tick down the numbered floors right down to the lobby.

As she exited, he called out, "Happy Christmas to you, MacKenzie. Have a good night."

"Happy Christmas to you," she returned, though with some reticence now, since she didn't know this man's real name and the conversation had devolved from fun to unsettling. From several steps inside the lobby, she dared a quick look back at him.

The gentleman in the red velvet get-up, with a gray-white beard, made a brief wave before giving a nod and returning his attention to the control panel. The doors slid closed again.

_Strange_.

In the austere lobby of the AWM tower, only one sleepy uniformed guard sat at the desk. He made a comradely wave as she passed through the turnstile.

As soon as she stepped through the outer doors to the street, the December wind assailed her, making her gasp slightly. She paid no particular attention to the shiny black Escalade at the curb, since limousines of one kind or another were frequent sights, invariably associated with the comings-and-goings of the Lansings or Charlie Skinner or the on-camera talent.

"Mac. Finally. How about a lift home?"

_Will?_ She was speechless by his sudden appearance.

"Jeeze, Mac, it's two days before Christmas, the show's on hiatus, you could leave at a decent hour." His hands were jammed deep into the pockets of his coat, and he stamped his feet. "Damned cold out here waiting."

"You've been—_waiting_—for me?" She was trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to get her head around the idea.

"Here, give me that," he said, wresting the folio from her arms. He opened the door to the Escalade. "Let's get in out of the weather."

Once inside the warm cabin of the SUV, he leaned forward to give some instruction to the driver before turning back to where she was loosening her scarf.

"I saw Jim on his way out about a half hour ago, and he said you'd be right behind him."

"The lift got stuck between floors." The explanation left a lot unsaid, but MacKenzie figured the details didn't really matter to Will at this moment. "Anyway, I had no idea you were down here expecting me."

"Glad you finally made it. I sent a text earlier, asking if you were free, but I never heard anything back, and then Jim indicated you'd be out shortly, so I just waited."

_Text?_ She hadn't heard any notification of an incoming text message. Of course, she had been stuck in an elevator. With that peculiar but ultimately benign Father Christmas _poseur_.

"Anyway, I thought we could have a late supper, if you're up for it. A little holiday treat." He offered a tentative smile, reminiscent of the old Will. "Are you surprised?"

_Surprise_?

"Mac?"

"Nothing." She pushed away the sense of déjà vu. "Surprised, yes—but it's a nice one." _A happy one_. "Supper sounds lovely. I suppose I had assumed you probably had other plans tonight. Perhaps some posh party or dinner with some sultry young brain surgeon."

"I have a confession," he began, sheepishly. "I'm not half the playboy I've been making out to be. A lot of that was—well, it was just to needle you a bit."

_Another surprise_. Also, a happy one.

"I've got another confession to make, too, Mac. It isn't so much that I just don't want to be alone again this Christmas—it's that I would really like to have another Christmas with you. We used to have good ones, didn't we?"

"We did." Her admission was soft, suffused with the memory of two wonderful years, now years in the past.

"Well, let's make a start at it tonight. I've got a table at the Smoke Jazz and Supper Club for 10 o'clock. I know Charlie and Nancy invited you to their annual open house tomorrow—perhaps we could go together?"

She felt pleasantly overwhelmed. That Will had waited for her. That he wanted to take her out this evening and had made concrete plans to that end. That he even proposed spending more of the holiday together by going to the Skinners' party.

"That sounds—well, wonderful. Yes. I accept. All of it."

"Great," he enthused. "But first, I asked Hector to drive us through the park. I thought we could look at the lights—maybe watch the skaters at Wollman—enjoy a little wine along the way." He gestured to a bottle.

"Champagne?" she asked, feeling another prickle of déjà vu.

"Yeah. Something special to celebrate the season."

"And happy surprises."


End file.
